


must be love on the brain

by holdmyhammer (longbottomed)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (no surprise there), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Female Bilbo Baggins/Female Thorin Oakenshield, Lesbian Roommates, in which Thorin's a bit slow on the uptake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-18 23:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longbottomed/pseuds/holdmyhammer
Summary: The smell of breakfast greets Thorin as soon as she unlocks the door.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 4
Kudos: 80





	must be love on the brain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [witch_please](https://archiveofourown.org/users/witch_please/gifts).



> A (late, late) Christmas present to my partner in witchcraft, Lotte.
> 
> Listen to [this perfect cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FXgTl-xcgtI) of Rhianna's Love on the Brain by Bishop Briggs and Cold War Kids, while you read.

The smell of breakfast greets Thorin as soon as she unlocks the door. 

A small smile curls the corners of her mouth as she kicks the door shut behind herself and toes off her boots. Her keys drop into the bowl on the small dresser with a clink. Muffled music filters through the ajar door leading towards the sitting room, a slow, swirling melody that uncurls in the small space of the dark hallway.

There’s singing, too. Multiple voices, one slightly off-key. Thorin shrugs out of her jacket and hangs it next to the purple corduroy blazer already on the coat rack. She bites down on a grin when the off-key singing gets louder, the words being belted out into the stillness of the early sunday morning.

Thorin digs through the pocket of her jacket and fishes out her fags and lighter, and shuffles out of the cramped hall into an equally cramped sitting room. The curtains are pulled to the side to let the amber morning light spill into the room, over the worn leather couch and the emerald velvet wingback, the papers and forgotten tea cup on the coffee table. The decrepit macbook next to the open textbook wheezes its protests at being abandoned. Thorin nudges it shut on her way past.

The door to the kitchen is open, releasing the smell of sizzling bacon and hash browns into the flat. Thorin leans against the doorframe and watches the scene in front of her.

Bilbo’s standing in front of the stove, short curls a mess, singing along to the song coming from the bluetooth speaker on the fridge. She’s wearing one of Thorin’s old shirts, an Iron Maiden tee that’s turned from black to grey due to too many turns in the wash, and-- oh.

Bilbo goes on her tiptoes to reach for the speaker, turning up the volume of the music, tee pulling up to reveal she’s not wearing any trousers or shorts, just. Knickers.

‘Baby, you got me like ooh-uh,’ the speakers declare, with feeling. 

Bilbo sings along, hips swaying to the music as she flips the strips of bacon. The morning breeze blowing in through the open windows feels cool against Torin’s cheeks. She drags a hand through her hair and takes a deep breath, blinking her eyes shut.

When she opens them again, Bilbo’s grinning at her over her shoulder, a bit of red on her cheekbones. She doesn’t stop singing or dancing, but nods at a steaming cup of coffee on the worktop. Thorin steps into the kitchen and reaches for the chipped sugar bowl. Fumbles when Bilbo’s hip bumps into hers. Their kitchen has never felt this small.

Thorin spoons a generous amount of sugar into her cup and stirs, staring down into the dark vortex of liquid.

‘Must be love on the brain,’ sing the speakers.

Thorin grabs the coffee and shakes a fag out of the pack. She slips it between her lips and makes her way past Bilbo, their shoulders bumping when Bilbo chooses that moment to twirl around like a ballerina with two left feet. Thorin’s hand snaps out and wraps around her forearm to steady Bilbo when she almost ends up sprawled over the stove. Bilbo giggles, flush high on her cheekbones, and tugs her arm out of Thorin’s hold only to grasp her hand and perform another pirouette. Thorin snorts.

‘And I can’t get enough,’ comes from the speakers.

Bilbo untangles their hands, pulls the fridge open and Thorin reaches around her for the milk. Her chest brushes Bilbo’s shoulder and short curls tickle her cheek. She breathes in and catches a whiff of camomile tea and honey.

‘Rough night, T-Bird?’ Bilbo asks as she opens the milk for Thorin. Thorin grunts an affirmation and pours some into her coffee, and into the cuppa Bilbo holds out to her. Then she settles onto the windowsill. She lights her fag while Bilbo turns off the stove and leans against the worktop, tea cradled in her hands.

‘I’m tired of being played like a violin,’ the speaker tells them.

‘What do I gotta do to get in your motherfuckin’ heart?’ Bilbo breathes the next line of song onto her tea, staring at the wall and swaying softly from side to side.

Thorin coughs out a cloud of smoke.

She shakes her head when Bilbo looks at her with a concerned frown. Thorin quickly gulps down some coffee and regrets it immediately when she burns her tongue. The fag is plucked from her fingers as she coughs some more and does her best not to spill the remainder of her coffee all over her lap.

Thorin sucks down a deep breath and looks up at Bilbo, who’s now in front of her, cigarette between her lips as she takes a drag.

‘And I run for miles just to get a taste,’ promises the speaker.

Thorin exhales a shaky breath and takes the cigarette back. ‘Dwalin had me carrying kegs half the night.’

Bilbo purses her lips and wiggles her nose. ‘For?’

Thorin mumbles a response around the fag and ducks her head. She looks up again when Bilbo tugs on one of her braids.

‘Again?’ Bilbo asks and sighs. ‘Thorin, you can’t keep beating up Hells Angels!’

‘I can and I will when they keep slapping my arse,’ Thorin growls.

‘Well,’ Bilbo sniffs. ‘Alright.’

She nudges her knee against Thorin’s until she moves over to make room on the windowsill. It’s a tight fit, the two of them sandwiched between the open windows and their sides pressed against each other.

‘Still,’ Bilbo says after a moment, frowning at her tea. ‘You shouldn’t do it too often. I can’t imagine the Hells Angels take lightly to their members being roughed up by you.’

Thorin shrugs, their bare arms brushing. She swallows. ‘Dwalin’s got it handled.’

Bilbo stops frowning at her tea leaves to glare at Thorin instead. ‘That doesn’t sound half as reassuring as you surely think.’

Thorin chuckles and takes a last drag from the fag before stubbing it out in the ashtray. ‘It doesn’t?’

Bilbo bumps her shoulder into Thorin’s and leaves it at that.

The song trails off and starts over. Bilbo crosses her legs and twitches her foot to the rhythm, humming along to the lyrics. Thorin drains the last of her coffee.

The sun is warming her neck and back, the smell of bacon and camomile fills her nose. Bilbo’s hand is on her knee, fingers tapping absent-mindedly against her jeans. Thorin doesn’t know when Bilbo put her hand there, and she stares at it, Bilbo’s palm feeling hot even through the thick denim. For a moment, she imagines the imprint of Bilbo’s hand on her knee, branded into her skin forever.

She blinks, looks at Bilbo from the corner of her eye. Bilbo’s staring ahead, at the sink and the stack of dirty plates left over from Thorin’s hasty dinner last night before her shift. The tips of her ears are red where they poke out of the honey curls.

‘Just start loving me,’ the speaker demands, and Bilbo sings along under her breath, and Thorin snaps.

Her coffee cup slips from her hand and clunks on the floor, rolling over until the handle stops it. Bilbo startles and jerks to the side, into the window, almost dropping her cup as well. She turns her head to look at Thorin, mouth already open but nothing comes out when Thorin’s right arm curls around her waist, her other hand coming up to cup the side of Bilbo’s head, pulling her forward.

Bilbo tastes of honey-sweetened tea. Her lips are soft. Kissing her feels so much better than what Thorin’s always imagined. She sighs.

Then she notices that Bilbo’s gone rigid against her. She pulls back, suddenly painfully aware that she must smell of dirty pub and taste worse than an ashtray, and that she has perpetually dry lips, and that Bilbo was most likely only singing along to the bloody song, fuck, and not asking to be snogged by her bloody roommate.

Bilbo’s hand at the back of her head brings her up short, however, and then Bilbo’s kissing her back, fingers tangling in Thorin’s hair and tugging, tongue swiping over her bottom lip. Thorin opens her mouth and Bilbo surges forward, pushing her tongue past her lips and curling it against Thorin’s.

Thorin hums, pulling Bilbo closer still, uncaring that the edge of the window frame is digging into her arsecheek and that old Mr MacIntosh from ‘cross the street will have a heart attack if he takes a look out the window right now.

It doesn’t matter, because Bilbo’s half in her lap, one hand fisted in Thorin’s hair, the other curled into her shirt, and her lips are against Thorin’s, and Mahal, they’re kissing.

‘And I can’t get enough,’ the speaker sings into the early sunday morning. ‘Must be love on the brain.’


End file.
